


Severus Snape and the Girl who Knows.

by AlfiesDream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Major Original Character(s), Mentor Severus Snape, Obliviation, Original Character(s), Potions, Romance, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Teacher-Student Relationship, Time Travel, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlfiesDream/pseuds/AlfiesDream
Summary: Rori awakes in a different time, a different place, and in a different body, and carries all of the magic of her land within her. Young Rori must seek out a Master occulmens to learn how to control her powers, stay hidden, and to protect what her magic compels her to protect.





	1. The forces and the Bottom of the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fan fiction, I do not receive any compensation for this work. Harry Potter and all related content is the property of JK Rowling.

It was a dreary day, slightly warm for January but damp, the sort of weather in which mildew and insects thrive. The southern states were interesting like that, the winters unpredictable in every way except the precipitation. Whether misty for weeks, teetering on the brink of ice, or a monsoon of thunderous pop up storms, shifting from sultry and treacherous tornadic weather one moment, to an apocalyptic ice storm in just a blink of the eye. 

Rori often daydreamed about the weather. Perhaps the south had some sort of magic, the lands so rich with ancient magic that they released their wrath in the form of ice and wind, heat and cold. Some Springs the rains would be perfectly spaced between days of delicate sunshine. Not too hot, and perfection for life to flourish. Record breaking heights for plants in the garden, strawberries clustered by the pound and the smell of jasmine in the air. It must be magic, of course, the sheer beauty of it all, and it must be magic that, without warning, can turn it all to rot with a month of storm. 

Rori pulled herself from her daydream, awaking in the garden. How long has she been sitting here? Staring into the low patch of grass. The bottom of the small hill always pulled her weight, her eyes and her body drawn to that point as if one could just dive in and become one with the earths magic.

She refused to fall into that spot, for one it seemed preposterous, she would just be laying in the mud and grass and would achieve nothing but soiling her clothing. There is nothing there but her imagination, of course. 

Falling also filled Rori with fear. Not because she was afraid of heights, rather she feared her desire to fall. She was so drawn to falling she wondered if it was a symptom of her emptiness, a symptom of wanting death. 

True, her life was unfulfilling and rather drab. Everything in this world seemed so easy to achieve. Her goals were met with ease, she had no financial hardships and with little interest in the world around her, she had nothing to look forward to. 

Rori gazed to the bottom of the small hill.

If she wanted death, however, she would have had it by now, because doesn’t she have everything else she always wanted?

She released what little she was holding on to, and fell.


	2. The Garden

Rori awoke, dizzy as hell and with a mouthful of mud and grass. She realized she couldn’t stand, and recalling a sensation of being pulled through her belly button left her nauseous. She stayed laying face down in the grass for a moment. 

“Did I hit my head when I fell?” She thought.

After a few moments, she realized the air was cooler, much cooler. And she began to rise to her feet.

“Typical, the weather is changing on a dime once again”, she mumbled aloud.

Rubbing the dirt from her face, and then clothing, she incoherently cursed to herself for allowing her daydreams to get the best of her. At that moment, she paused before looking up. 

“Something isn’t right, this isn’t my garden at all,” she thought, terrified.

She stood in place trying to rationalize what had happened, and without any better idea, she was convinced she blacked out when she hit her head and wandered into a neighbors yard. Feeling better that everything was figured out, she quickly headed for the gate to leave. Just as she almost placed her hand on the gate, one of the plants reached out and stuck to her leggings. Rori looked down at the sticky vine, and carefully tried to remove the overgrown weed from her leg, when she realized the plant was moving.

“I must be going insane or dreaming”, she said aloud, knowing talking to herself at this point surely didn’t make the situation any worse.

The plant was about 3 feet tall and had about two dozen vines with small leaves flapping and waving around. The tentacle like vine that grabbed her legging reached at her again, and she swatted it away and jumped backwards... into a person.


	3. Meeting

Two enormous, slender hands slithered onto her shoulders, forcefully rotating Rori’s body. Her heart skipped in fear, straight ahead her eyes met the buttons of a fine shirt, with a delicate stitched pattern of peacock blues, greens, and reds that overlapped and twisted in a peculiar pattern, reminiscent of the scales of some sort of reptile. She pushed herself away instinctively and immediately noted that from a slightly further distance, those those iridescent colors collaborated to exude the darkest shade of black she had ever seen. His clothing was of a remarkable craft, and obscure in shape. Too fine to be costume, and too complementary to the mans dark gaze to be the occasional formal wear. No, this clothing was an extension of his body, as much a part of this man as a birthmark or the color of his hair. 

The man must have towered 2, maybe 3 feet over Rori’s head. Perhaps she was still woozy, but she noted even his home, the fences, the plants, all seemed... taller, more intimidating than they should be. 

The dark mans thin lips cocked upwards into a sharp smirk, “And how, exactly, did such a silly little girl manage to break through 7 protective wards?” He spat in a deep English baritone. 

Silence.

He kneeled, pulling his face terrifyingly close, and raised a sharp eyebrow at Rori.

Still dizzy, she realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, inhaled. Leather, vanilla, Sichuan peppercorn... cardamom? And perhaps a half dozen or so indistinguishably beautiful, and complicated scents. She felt an icy breeze on her nose, and heard the whisper of a nearby river. Collected, calm. Rori peered into the mans abyssal gaze. 

“I... do I know you?” Rori squeaked. Her voice seemed different, perhaps it cracked in her nervousness.

She didn’t recognize his face, directly, but his aura, if such a thing exists, seemed so familiar. Like a lover from a long lost dream, reconnected in the flesh. 

His expression dropped and his bottom lip hung just slightly open. He paused to consider, slightly squinting his eyes in question. “No, of course not”, he declared silently in his head. He very slightly and briefly shook his head “no”, as if to himself, not to the person before him.

Straightening his back, pulling his hands away from Rori and placing them to his hips, he said condescending, “I assure you we have never met, you are too young to be my student, and most certainly not a child of any of my acquaintances”.

“Too young? I’m almost 30 years old! And I didn’t break your wards, the only thing I may have broken was my skull when I fell in my garden moments ago,” Rori spat back, matching the man’s attitude. 

 

The man rolled his eyes, and Rori felt a sensation of water flooding her skull, as if something was there that didn’t belong. She immediately found a thin silvery wisp that most certainly would wasn’t something she would imagine, it was much too simple. With one breath, she imagined it being pulled from her ear, and it was gone. 

“I’m daydreaming again... this is a very inappropriate time for this”, she thought to herself.

She noticed the man staring at her, as if he too was lost in thought.

“Are you ok?” Rori gently questioned.

“I...” he stammered, “I think you should come inside,” he said briefly scanning his garden, as if to see if anyone was watching.

Not in the habit of going home with men she just met, Rori was curious about this man, and perhaps could use at least a glass of water to recover. She nodded her head as he invited her into his home.


	4. The library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the early love guys! Wow, writing is way more fun than reading, haha. Long time lurker on here, (many years) but thinking writing may be where the real party is at. Enjoy!

As she stepped across the threshold and into his home, she immediately noted the warmth, scent and cackle of at least two fireplaces warming the cozy building. Dark, the place was very eerily dark, only lit by candle and fire... but oddly inviting at the same time. 

He extended his arm into the first door off the entryway, beckoning her into a small sitting room with books and shelving floor to ceiling, tucked together so thick you’d assume it was a library. 

She entered the room, mesmerized by the volume of books, and slightly forlorn knowing it would be inappropriate to stay, snuggle up by the fire and peruse his collection.

Turning around to complement the man, she spoke “Your library is beauti...” she stopped herself, fearfully noting the books covered all walls, floor to ceiling, and the entrance had completely vanished.

“Are you trying to kidnap me?!” She shrieked, overwhelmed with claustrophobia, stumbling backwards, away from the man, and tripping over a low settee. 

“Calm yourself, girl, I would do no such thing. This is a false bookcase on either side,” he said, flicking his hand as if shooing a servant. The bookcase silently opened like a door, revealing the entryway. “You are free to go if you are uncomfortable, but you seem to have questions that we both may not want others hearing the answers to. This room guarantees privacy.”

The door remained open. Rori sat up and took a step towards the exit, noting the man made no indication to stop her. She paused, turned back to the settee and took a seat.

“If you don’t mind, please leave the door open. I doubt your paranoia is warranted, in fact I think you may have me confused with someone else.”

He smirked at her again. 

After an awkward but brief moment of silence, Rori decided to ask the first question.

“How did you get the bookcase to open without touching anything?”

The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead he walked across the room sitting in the leather chair facing Rori. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands together across his face. He bounced his foot slightly, 

He rolled his eyes, “Magic.” She sensed his ...sarcasm? Maybe? 

“Ok he’s a weird, paranoid guy with a thing for mechanical bookcases, I’m sure there’s a switch in his pocket,” she rationalized in her mind.

“Who are y...” Rori paused, distracted by the pitch of her voice. 

“Why did you refer to me as a little girl?”

 

Not one to give up information first in unknown situations, the man sighed and decided to at least briefly enlighten the girl if perhaps to minimally help her recall, something, if anything. 

He pulled one of his hands away from his face, snapped his fingers, and with a small puff of grey smoke and a tiny burst of white sparks, an ornate chased silver hand-mirror appeared, floating mid-air. 

Rori’s heart jumped again. Her eyes darted between the man, the mirror, and the exit. “I’m holding my breath again,” she thought. After a few moments she exhaled, inhaled. Red wine, linseed oil, fresh cut herbs. The fire continued to cackle. Calm, collected.

Rori looked to the man. The mirror began to float towards her. Her gaze remained on him as she reached out and took the mirror. She held the mirror before her, and immediately noted she was, in fact, a little girl. And she wasn’t her pre-teen self, at that. Her hair was no longer ashy blonde, and her eyes were no longer hazel. Her eyes were her black and her hair, her hair was completely gone, her eyebrows and lashes at that too. Her cheekbones were higher, her lips fuller and her freckles completely missing. She looked at the man, and looked back at herself. 

Suddenly fearful, she said, “You can close the bookshelf now.”


	5. The Broomstick and the Prophet

“I’ll be quite honest, if it wasn’t for the throbbing headache from my fall I’d assume this was a dream. Or perhaps I’ve gone mad,” Rori spoke gently.

“You haven’t gone mad but the nature of your predicament isn’t completely known. I am assuming you have undergone obliviation. The headache and general amnesia are the primarily indicators,” the man explained.

Awaiting more information, she silently stared. The man snapped his fingers once more, vanishing the mirror and simultaneously summoning an ornate chased silver tea set. The cups and tray exhibited a beautiful floral motif, mostly whimsical If not for the tiny spiders and snakes weaving between the roses.

He poured two glasses of tea, earl grey, strong on the bergamot with hints of lavender, she noted as she inhaled. The glass he poured floated towards her. She briefly considered the possibility of him spiking the drink with something unsavory, but figured she was deep enough in this rabbit hole for it to matter. She took a sip.

No sugar, no milk, just as Rori usually takes it. Exquisite. Not many people know the delicate timing of the humble Earl Grey. Brewed 30 seconds longer and the tea would have gone bitter. Rori took another sip before placing her cup onto the dainty saucer floating near her knee.

“What is your name?” The man asked. 

“Rori. Rori...” she questioned, unable to recall her last name. 

“Your last name?” He asked impatiently. 

“I don’t remember,” she said. 

“I expected. Your home? Where were you last?” He asked.

“I, I remember it wasn’t like it was here. It was stormy, but warm,” she recalled.

“Specifics,” he asked firmly. 

“I don’t remember,” Rory said very quietly. 

He sighed. He knew the veritaserum was a waste, but he had to be sure.

She did mention her age, she has to remember something. 

“When is your birthday?” He asked, merely to see if she was lying before. 

“January 9th, 1990”, she said without hesitation.

He stared at her for a moment before whispering, “that is impossible...”

He stormed out of the room, manually slamming the bookcase behind him. She heard him trotting quickly down a wooden staircase, presumably to a basement. Too afraid to leave, Rori peered around the room to hopefully find some clues as to what is going on.

She noted an interesting golden bowl, shallow and brightly polished sitting on a black iron stand cast into long elegant gryphon feet. She stood and walked to the bowl, peering inside. It looked like water, but thicker. Shadows seemed to dance around like koi fish swimming in a pond. On the bookshelf near the bowl she noted several tiny glass vials with minuscule, yet perfectly written cursive script, simply marked with dates. “These vials are old, ‘81, ‘71?” she thought.

She browsed the books. 

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

Encyclopaedia of Toadstools.

Flesh-Eating Trees of The World.

“Odd,” she said aloud.

Turning to the chair the man was sitting, she noticed a newspaper. “Perfect, this should be useful,” she thought.

“The Daily Prophet” The paper read in gold leaf. “Even the newspapers this man reads are fancy,” Rori thought.

She immediately noticed a small broomstick flying across the front page, an advertisement seemingly for a broomstick. The broom whizzed through the articles, pushing through the letters leaving a trail of twinkling stars behind the tail. The Flyte and Barker company introduces the Twigger 90 broomstick, the ad beamed.

Millicent Bagnold leaves office as minister for Magic, to be immediately replaced by Cornelius Fudge, who is to be sworn into office by January 31st.

“Ok perhaps this paper isn’t as useful as I thought,” she thought, flipping the paper over, and back to the front. She looked at the gold leafed “Daily Prophet” again, admiring the detail, her eyes trailed back to the cute flying broomstick moving across the page. She followed it again, noticing it left the page in the upper right corner, to whiz onto the next. Right where the broom left the page, she noticed the date, and her heart immediately sunk.

JANUARY 1st, 1990.

 


	6. The Cyclone

Rori felt faint, she was holding her breath again. This time she didn’t care, she couldn’t contain her anxiety and fear. The paper ignited in her hands, dropping to the floor in chunks of embered ash. The room felt as if it was closing in, she needed to escape. She felt her eyes well up with tears as she turned to the bookcase. She took one step towards it, opened her mouth and screamed. 

Instead of a high pitched wail of a child, the thunderous roar of a train poured from her mouth. The books vibrates violently and began to fall around her, slowly spiraling and gaining speed exponentially. Papers and leather bindings roared around her, the wood of the shelves and the flooring began to come undone in the cyclonic force. Just as the walls began to crumble, the man appeared in the entryway, visible through the disintegrating walls. He raised his wand, emitting a white glow. Tendrils emerged forming an egg shaped dome around Rori, separating her from the cyclone, protecting her from her own magic. He strained, teeth clenched struggling to strengthen his shield around her. His face was getting obliterated, clothes ripping and tattered from the debris whipping across his body. Blood ran down his face in several steady streams. 

Rori saw his struggle, his pain. An overwhelming sensation came over her, she needed to protect him as he is protecting her. She looked into his eyes, and exhaled. The cyclone began to recede. She inhaled. Parchment, smoke, wood. She exhaled again. A few pages still flapped around her. His shield broke and he collapsed onto the floor.

Rori ran to him, collapsing beside him. Just before falling unconscious, she placed her hand on his face, and wept.


	7. The Caretaker

November 1977

The caretaker Argus Filch was scanning the corridors for students out of bed after hours. Still relatively young, Filch enjoyed his late evenings on patrol, finding humor in outsmarting pesky troublemakers. This evening was lit by a full moon, and he had noticed a trend of a small band of students out of bed during the brighter side of the lunar cycle. He assumed the moonlight was keeping them awake, prompting the restless troublemakers to leave their beds for pranks and mischief.

A wolf howled from the forbidden forest. As the moon peaked above the astronomy tower, Filch peered across the greenery, noticing a band of several students heading towards the Whomping Willow. 

“They deserve what’s a comin’ for ‘em,” he grumbled to himself. With a little hesitation, he decided to head towards the tree. 

“Ain’t worth losin’ me job tho,” he thought, as he continued down the flagstone path. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed another dark figure, likely a student, briskly walking in the other direction. Grumbling, he decided to pursue the larger group of children instead, calculating that catching several was worth more in praise from the headmaster.

On the other side of the castle, the dark figure clasped his arm, panting as he hurried towards the perimeter of the school grounds. He was afraid, was going to be very, very late. 

As soon as he reached the exterior gates, he retrieved his wand, hesitated, and popped away with a small burst of smoke.


	8. The Manor

Many miles to the south the man reappeared with a pop, landing mid stride continuing his brisk pace. He passed directly through gargantuan gothic iron gates, passing finely shaped geometric hedges that towered above him. A small elf wearing a stained tea cloth around it’s waist stood at the front door of a remarkably beautiful stone Victorian mansion. The elf took the hand of the man as he approached the door, and they popped once more into a large room.

Down the center of the room ran a long ebony table, with one man at the head and several witches and wizards sitting along the sides. 

“We are glad you could finally join us, Severus. We have been waiting impatiently,” the man at the end of the table gently chided. 

He continued, “you shall be granted leniency due to the apparition restrictions at Hogwarts, but once you have completed your studies I expect you to be the first to arrive.”

Severus bowed deeply and slowly, “thank you, my lord.”

“Please, take a seat,” the dark lord asked, beckoning Severus to the empty seat two seats away.

Severus slithered into his chair, making eye contact with the white haired woman sitting directly before him.

A young, slender man popped in with the elf just before conversation began.

“Welcome, Barty Crouch. Your fathers political situation is a terrible excuse for tardiness. Next time I will not be so lenient,” the dark lord spoke as he raised his wand.

“Crucio!” He yelled, as he pointed his wand at young Crouch, who fell to the floor, twisting every muscle in agony. Teeth clenched, he screamed out between his closed teeth, fingernails curled into his palm drawing blood. Just as the man soiled his pants, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the curse broke and the Dark Lord returned his wand to his lap.

The man lay motionless on the floor.

The dark lord spoke, “We are gathered here to celebrate our success in infiltrating the ministry, and manipulating the elections to get Crouch Senior elected. With the loyalty of his Junior,” the man paused to glance at the man on the floor, “we can ensure unnoticed political persuasion. Crouch Junior is one of few with unrestricted access to his fathers office, and can continue using the Imperius to sway the courts in our favor.”

“I also would like to introduce Severus Snape to our ranks. This young weakling brought forth by Narcissa has surprised me in his natural gifts for Legilimency, and we will be using him to gather information from Dumbledore and others inside Hogwarts. He will be pursuing a career stationed at Hogwarts after graduation to continue gathering information. Lucius, i expect you and Crouch to put in appropriate recommendations to ensure Severus receives the post as Defense Against Dark Arts professor. We will be shifting to Dark Arts studies gradually to indoctrinate our newest generation of soldiers.” 

The dark lord paused and glanced around the table. 

“Severus, you will be staying over the winter holiday with the Malfoys, and will utilize this opportunity to study the dark arts in their library. You have my permission to practice your dark spells on anyone exhibiting signs of... disloyalty.”

The dark lord stood, frowning as he looked once more around the room, and apparated with a pop. The elf returned, clutched the man on the floor and popped him away.

The room quickly cleared except for Narcissa, Lucius and Severus, who remained sitting around the table. 

“Shall I summon the elves to bring some  
Wine or perhaps scotch?” Narcissa asked.

The white haired man Lucius ignored her question, “Severus I will be traveling on the dark lords orders during your stay at the manor, I expect you to make yourself at home. Should you need anything please do not hesitate to use the elves and Narcissa.” 

Narcissa exclaimed, “Travelling?! For how long? When were you going to tell me?”

“I found out moments ago, the dark lord communicated this to me during the meeting using his odd mind tricks,” Lucius said, “I’m sure he was giving orders around the table and didn’t want to waste his own time by speaking to us all individually. I will be recruiting in the Far East, the ancient royal families of both the Saudi’s and Japan are needed for our Eastern influential growth and I will be expected to invest in time and obviously capital to persuade them. The dark lord gave me a deadline of New Years 1989, so I’m expecting this to be impossible to complete sooner than two years.”

Narcissa pursed her lips, eyes slightly watering. 

“I leave first thing tomorrow, goodnight. I will be sleeping in the west wing, please do not disturb me,” Lucius said as he left the room.

Narcissa summoned her elf with a snap of her fingers. “A bottle of the Napa Valley Cabernet, and two glasses.”

Severus raised his eyebrow, “I should be heading back to collect my things.”

“No need, you finished your exams for the semester, yes? The elves have already brought your things. You will be in the Grey room directly down the north hall and to the left,” she explained. 

She wandlessly poured the wine into two thin crystal glasses, with bowls much larger than the glasses Severus remembers his poor muggle father kept. Narcissa took her glass, briefly swirled the wine once and took a sip.

“American wine? I expected you to drink from the old vines of France. American vines are the mud bloods of the wine world, vines taken from the finer wines of Europe and mixed with Merlin knows what,” Severus rambled.

“You’ll find my tastes have quite changed. And this wine is actually very good, try it,” she said.

He brought the glass to his nose. Blackberry, with complex aromas of black licorice, anise and creme de cassis. He was intrigued, smirking at Narcissa before taking a sip. The palate was earthy, like brown spice in a cigar box, finishing with the subtle sweetness of ripe plums.

“Beautiful,” he said, watching her take a sip. 

“I do hope you are referring to the Wine Severus, I am much to old for you,” she laughed.

“Five years is but a blink. You are truly beautiful, but I was referring to the wine,” he said. 

She sat silently, smile slowly fading. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to help you get through this,” he said, placing his hands over hers. “It’ll be just like the common room back at Hogwarts. I know you’ve been gone for a few years, but we can get back to debating potions ingredients and playing wizards chess like we used to,” Severus smiled at her.

He never smiles. This alone was enough to lift her spirits, if just a hair. “Thank you Severus, I missed our friendship,” she smiled.

Narcissa looked into his eyes, took a deep breath and quickly stood to her feet. I should be retiring. You are welcome to the bottle. Again, your room and things are down the hall, if you should need any assistance do not hesitate to summon the elves or myself. Goodnight Severus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first fic. Long time reader and daydreamer, always wanted to share those daydreams with y’all!


End file.
